For Stella Gwee, the lesson of the shophouse is that Singapore’s most enduring places are those shaped slowly, at eye level

For our SG60 September edition, we turn our attention to “Built Spaces”  —  the streets, structures, and shared places that hold the weight of our collective memory while adapting to the demands of a changing city. In this series, we explore the tensions, triumphs, and quiet evolutions that shape the spaces we call our own  —  and ask what it will take for them to remain meaningful in the decades to come.

Shophouses are the kind of architecture that resists easy categorisation. They stand at the intersection of history and modernity, humble yet ornate, both public-facing and intimate. For Stella Gwee, founder of Shophouse & Co, they embody a truth that continues to shape Singapore’s evolving story — that spaces matter most when they carry the spirit of the communities within them.

“It is hard for me to single out one single space,” she says, “but instead, I would like to share an architectural typology that epitomises the complexity of our culture and historical identity — the shophouse.” To her, the shophouse is more than a building type; it is a symbol of the human-scaled, mixed-use vibrancy that has anchored generations of Singaporeans.

It is also a metaphor for her own practice, so much so that she named her placemaking studio after it, choosing “Shophouse & Co” to signal community, collaboration, and conversation.

When Gwee describes the shophouse, she does so with a sense of reverence for its layered identity. “The dual nature of living and working, the messiness and chaos of generations of families who used to live above their businesses, blurring the line between private and public life — the vibrant, authentic, genuine and organic sense of community and place-based identity that goes beyond its form.”

In her hands, the shophouse becomes a mindset — a living laboratory that demonstrates how the true value of a place lies not only in design but in the human connections it fosters and the stories it holds. 

Building with soul in mind

This way of seeing the city is what anchors her work. Singapore, in her view, is not simply a city of gleaming infrastructure but a city of lived-in places. “We can’t stop developments or redevelopment projects as a city grows,” she says, “but we must remember that we are not developing our city as a theme park, but these are authentic, lived-in, everyday places.”

For her, the opportunity is to embrace change while carrying forward the essence of place — the soul that makes a neighbourhood recognisable and meaningful.

That essence begins at the ground. “Cities should be built from the ground up, at eye level,” Gwee explains. Planning and design succeed when they make space for everyday encounters: walking, browsing, pausing, connecting. In such moments, the city transforms from infrastructure into community.

This is why placemaking has become more central to Singapore’s future. For Gwee, the lesson across years of practice is clear: vibrancy cannot be added as an afterthought. “You cannot retrofit a soul,” she says.

“The vibrancy of a place is not an afterthought; it is the result of a deliberate, innovative, empathetic, and inclusive design process.” That conviction guides her projects, from working with campuses and technology districts to reimagining the rhythms of Orchard Road.

The tension between heritage and progress, which often defines conversations about Singapore’s built environment, is for Gwee less a problem than a space of possibility. She frames heritage not as static façades but as “the smells, the sounds, the intergenerational stories — these are things you can’t put a price on, but they are what make a place truly magnetic.”

For her, true placemaking involves carrying these intangibles into the future, demonstrating that cultural memory and economic vitality can co-exist to create places that are both distinctive and enduring. 

The courage to imagine differently

Her proposals for the future are practical yet imaginative. She speaks of “peppercorn rents”, long-tenure leases that allow community-led initiatives and creative enterprises to experiment and grow. She argues for redefining vibrancy beyond metrics like footfall, towards a deeper appreciation of social bonds and shared creativity.

And she dreams of a “messy fund” — resources dedicated to supporting ideas that may not fit into neat categories but hold the potential to spark unexpected connections. Such ideas are less about resistance and more about possibility: expanding the vocabulary of how Singapore might continue to evolve with imagination and heart.

What gives her optimism is that this shift is already underway. “In the past 13 years of this work, there has been a shift in the willingness of key stakeholders, from government agencies to developers, and also a growing awareness from the communities that are bringing up questions and leading conversations on what kind of place or city they would want to live in.”

She highlights her ongoing collaboration with Temasek Foundation on a study exploring how placemaking can build social capital — a partnership that demonstrates how philanthropy, policy, and creativity can align. 

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For Gwee, the hope is intergenerational. “I hope the next generation will inherit not just a beautiful, healthy, and functional city, but a city that they feel empowered to shape and call their own,” she says. That empowerment comes from seeing the city as a living canvas, constantly made and remade by its inhabitants.

“True placemaking is a collective act. It is the spontaneous conversation at the void deck, in the hawker centres or the community garden that grows from a shared passion, and the art installation that reflects a shared story.”

She closes with the words of Jane Jacobs: “Cities have the capability of providing something for everybody, only because, and only when, everybody creates them.” In invoking this wisdom, she places Singapore firmly within a global dialogue, yet with an eye on the local stories that make each neighbourhood singular.

The shophouse — layered, porous, alive — remains her metaphor. Through it, Gwee reminds us that the future of the city will not be written only in blueprints or master plans, but in the countless, quiet ways people inhabit and transform the spaces around them

If there is a lesson to hold close, it is this: that a city’s greatest strength lies in the connections it allows us to forge, the stories it enables us to tell, and the courage it gives us to imagine what comes next.